


Many are the Hearts...

by pornbot



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: M/M, implied/referenced PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-13 00:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12971985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pornbot/pseuds/pornbot
Summary: A minor infestation in Hereford requires Thomas and Frank's attention.





	Many are the Hearts...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fajrdrako](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fajrdrako/gifts).



> ...that are weary tonight,  
> Wishing for the war to cease;  
> Many are the hearts looking for the right  
> To see the dawn of peace.
> 
>  
> 
> [From Tenting Tonight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Obrxigv048)
> 
> Thank you to htbthomas for betaing

Dominic called on my day off. He covered the barest of pleasantries before raising why he had called.

 

“All minor stuff at the moment but escalating,” he said, “they set fire to a shed last night. We’ve been investigating for weeks but no sign of a doer. The surveillance team reported their equipment has been breaking but no one took any of it apart until this week.”

 

I hummed sympathetically as I jotted notes into an email and then made it Nightingale’s problem. Attached Dominic’s contact details and sent both the email and Dominic with a promise of prompt response. Then I turned back over into Beverley’s shoulder and went back to sleep.

 

* * *

  


“Fancy a jolly?” Thomas asked as they tidied away the weapons.

 

“How many men will we need?” Frank asked, alert in a way he hadn’t been before.

 

“Just us. Small pest removal in Hereford.” Thomas voice was casual, “Flamethrowers at dusk and a night in a nice hotel.”

 

Nodding, Frank finished clearing up from their weekly weapons inspection and secured both the required flamethrowers and the large travelling trunk and wicker picnic basket Molly had insisted on in the back of his Military surplus Land Rover.

 

In less time than Frank had expected they were crawling down the M40. In the passenger seat Thomas had a travelling desk on his lap spread with aerial photographs, OS maps, and reports from Dominic and friendly members of the local demi-monde as he narrowed down Dominic’s search area to a single nest.  “If we hike in from the south...” Thomas trailed off, pen scratching as he made plans.

 

The M40 did eventually clear and allow them to finish the journey in enough time to eat a late lunch in the woods while they waited for Dominic and his team to arrive. As ever, Molly had out done herself, packing enough to feed four or five rather than just the two of them.

 

“Using the reports provided and local Falcon contacts, we have narrowed the possible species and their nest location down to pixies and this coppice.” Thomas pointed at an aerial photograph. “Fire is the normal method of extermination for pixies. So we will need support from the local fire brigade.” He waved his hand at Dominic.

 

“Alpha team will be located here, beta team here and gamma team here.” Dominic pointed at three access points. “The Falcon team will enter from here.” He pointed to the first of the access points. “We have a fire engine on standby here” —he pointed at a roundabout about a mile away— “who will arrive here” —he pointed at the second access point— “when they receive word from alpha team.”

 

“Is everyone clear?” Thomas asked.

 

There was scattered agreement as officers grabbed the remaining sandwiches and cakes and departed to their vehicles.

 

Frank and Nightingale approached the coppice from the right, while Dominic and a probationary constable sat in a police car at the gate behind them. They both wore army surplus fatigues and were carrying full flame throwers. As they approached the coppice, they split so that they were each on one side of the small clearing that was the end of the rough track from the gate to the coppice.  For dusk in summer the coppice was quiet. There was no bird song and none of the rustling of small forest creatures you would expect. Instead there was an edgy atmosphere that Frank and the local police officers could feel from the gate. For Thomas, there was a constant chatter of the pixies that no one else could hear, the echos of what they had done to the creatures that lived here before they arrived.

 

In position, Frank held up a hand and then closed his fist. In unison they let rip. Fire spurted from the flame throwers, catching the old wood and mulch on the ground quicker than the fresh living wood of the trees. Thick black smoke came up from the ground, smelling of death and decay, before the trees took and the sweet smell of burning sap joined. It looked like parts of the coppice were fighting the fire, odd patches where nothing burnt and the smoke didn’t come near. They walked around the coppice spreading the fire throughout. The sections that would not burn congregated near Frank. Everything that was near Nightingale furiously burning, kicking clouds of ashy smoke into the air, and the atmosphere mutated to one of vicious anger.

 

Quick, too quick. All that anger focused on Frank. The coppice flared high into the sky and the unburning sections moved. Grasped at him. Tore his skin and ripped his clothes. Pulled him into their midst. Towards that hot fire.

 

Dust and dirt rained down onto him. The wood that would not burn was high in the sky. Frank free and Thomas a vengeful god in front of him. He pulled himself towards Thomas, who squeezed the wood together and into the fire. Pushed the fire tighter and tighter, hotter and hotter. The rocks on the ground were white hot, some even beginning to run towards them and still Thomas pushed, his face hard with fury, until there was a pop and a fountain of molten rock spewed from where the coppice had been.

 

Then Thomas released the fire and immediately fretted about Frank. The avenging god was gone and in his place a mild-mannered Englishman fretting about minor injuries. In the distance sirens screamed.

 

“I’m fine,” Frank brushed Thomas’ concern off. “Scratches. Was that too much magic? Do we need to go see Dr Walid?”

 

“It was nothing,” Thomas was similarly dismissive.

 

Then the fire brigade were pushing them back out towards an ambulance crew and wondering how exactly a fire hot enough to melt rock had begun in the Herefordshire countryside.

 

* * *

  


By the time the ambulance crew had cleared them and accepted they didn’t need to go A&E and official statements had been agreed, it was definitely too late to head back to London but they’d also missed check in at their hotel. So Dominic arranged a room for them at the Swan in the Rushes, although they’d stopped serving dinner so they had to make do with posh bar snacks. Thomas was indignant at the concept of a gastropub, and Frank's time in the army had cured him of any desire to know where his food came from, but the craft beer was good. They didn’t need to know whether it was brewed in house or in the microbrewery down the road from locally grown barley and wheat, but the menu told them so anyway in ecstatic prose.

 

It was with relief they retired to their double room to find that it was a standard hotel room. The provenance of the complimentary tea, coffee and hand soap was thoroughly documented but bed was just a reasonably soft bed with clean sheets. It dipped slightly below Frank’s weight as Thomas herded him down. With gentle but hurried hands, Thomas stripped him of his clothes, lingering on the gauze-covered scrapes.

 

Frank stretched up to kiss Thomas, carefully gentle and slow. “I’m fine. You’re fine.” he said, cupping Thomas’ face with his hands.

 

With the same careful movements forewarning Thomas, he trailed his hands down Thomas’ body and undid his belt and trousers. Pushing them to the ground, he gently pushed Thomas back and stripped out of his own trousers. With the kind of speed that would have Molly complaining about the state of his seams, Thomas stripped his shirt and kicked the pile of clothes across the room before pressing Frank back into the bed.

 

He was frantic the way he always was when they had to use fire or anything went wrong. Frank knew from experience that this would pass and in the morning Thomas would be back to his normal self, but for tonight he was gentle and slow with every movement. Signalling his intent well in advance so Thomas wouldn’t spook. He kept it slow even as Thomas tried to speed up. Pulling back when Thomas got too bitey and making sure they were both properly lubricated before Thomas lowered himself onto Frank’s dick. Hands on Thomas’ hips slowing him down and making him less forceful even as his biceps shook with the strain, but Thomas’ cock was weeping pre-come with every stroke and whatever he was seeing, it wasn’t flames and his men dying anymore.

 

“Finish yourself off,” Frank ground out. “I can’t hold off much longer.”

 

It took a while for Thomas to process, but then his hand was on his dick and he was bouncing fast on Frank’s dick as he stripped his own in three fast tugs before spraying his load over them both as he came with a howl. With a shudder Frank came, and Thomas’ full weight slumped into him, his head resting on Frank’s shoulder.

 

With a shove and the application of a flannel to each of them, Frank fell asleep next to Thomas’ quietly snoring body.

 

* * *

 

“How was Hereford?” I asked when Nightingale returned from the outer wastes at nearly midday.

 

“Good,” Nightingale replied. “That local contact of yours is developing very good instincts. It was only a small infestation confined to a coppice maybe 10 meters across.”

 

Last night Dominic had spent a good three hours bending my ear about how scary my boss was and how was he supposed to explain a patch of metamorphic rock 5 meters in diameter where there should only be sedimentary rock to the landowner. I couldn’t see any injuries on either Frank or Nightingale and Nightingale didn’t seem to be upset.

 

Molly was cheerfully fussing that neither of them had eaten a proper supper or had lunch yet and Nightingale was indulgently letting her fret in a way that meant the table would be heaving with enough food to feed Frank’s entire team and all our falcon aware police contacts.

 

“Might be an idea to invite him up.” Nightingale broke my train of thought. “Arrange a training weekend with all falcon aware officers. Have Abdul give a talk about identifying corpses affected by magic, see if any of them can identify vestiga, common signs of magical involvement and common English demi-monde.”

 

Frank sniggered behind Nightingale’s back at my expression and I had a sinking feeling - “Write up a proposal for a three day course, Peter.” Nightingale said.


End file.
